Nowhere Special
by LizPrince
Summary: What happened to Bart and Jim after they left Rock Ridge? Rated M for heavy drinking. The rating may be overkill, but I like to be cautious.
1. Chapter 1: Nice People

_"Where you headed, cowboy?"_

 _"Nowhere special."_

 _"Nowhere special. I always wanted to go there."_

 _"Come on."_

The limo traveled for more than an hour, winding its way through foothills and into the mountains. Jim seemed a little nervous about the distance between the side of the road and the ground. The driver smiled a little into the rearview mirror as he took them around hairpin curves without slowing down. Finally, they descended into a valley and entered a small town. Main Street, which was comprised of roughly a dozen false-front buildings and new wooden sidewalks, cozied up along a swift-flowing river. A set of railroad tracks ran along the other side of the town.

"Well," said Bart, "this is mighty pretty. I think this will do just fine."

The limo driver pulled off the dirt road, got out, and opened Bart's door with a bow and a flourish. "Have fun!" he said.

"Thank you!" Bart and Jim said in chorus. The driver returned to his seat, started the car, and executed a neat U-turn, heading back the way they'd come.

"Did you see the look on his face when he drove away?" asked Bart.

"I did," said Jim.

"Think it means trouble?"

"Oh, I hope so," Jim replied. "I rather enjoy being the Waco Kid again."

"Well, come on then, Kid," said Bart, and they headed up the sidewalk toward the saloon.

The sounds of laughter, a heated disagreement, and a honky-tonk piano poured from behind the swinging doors to the saloon, but once Bart and Jim walked in, everyone swiveled in their direction, and the room went silent. In a far corner, a card player solemnly pulled a straight pin from his shirt cuff and dropped it on the floor; the sound was unnaturally loud.

"One… two…," Bart counted under his breath.

"I'm sorry," the bartender said, not looking sorry at all. "But we don't serve n-"

"Nice people?" Jim interrupted with a smile. "Well, that's too bad, because unless you're on the wrong side of the law, unless you're harming poor, innocent widows and children," growing enthusiastic, he let his voice fill the room, "unless you are the enemy of Justice and Freedom, there is no nicer man than Bart, who saved Rock Ridge during his term as sheriff there."

"You're the one who saved Rock Ridge?" asked a middle-aged man sitting at a nearby table. "Why, my sister is the school marm there. I know all about that!"

Bart did his best to smile as he remembered his encounters with Harriet Johnson. "Ye-e-e-s. I remember her," he drawled.

"Bartender, get these men whatever they care to drink. Drinks are on me!" the man exclaimed. The honky-tonk piano started up again as the man rose from his chair and escorted Bart and Jim to the bar. An assortment of card-players, mountain men, cowboys, and saloon girls crowded around them. When one of the girls leaned over Bart's shoulder, her cheek nearly brushing his, he turned his head in her direction.

"Please!" he said. "Give a hero some room." She backed off.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked Bart and Jim as they savored their drinks.

"We were ready for something else, so we thought we'd see what we could find," said Jim. It was easier than saying they had decided to go nowhere special - the townsfolk might not take kindly to that, though he supposed they could always say they were passing through on their _way_ to nowhere special.

"Well, you're in luck!" the man exclaimed. "Old Gabby there," he jerked his head in the direction of a man who looked suspiciously like Gabby Johnson, "struck gold in a mine 'bout a mile from here, just this morning. Word'll get out afore long. You can try your luck before the others get here."

Gabby shouted something incomprehensible from his seat, but everyone ignored him.

"Gold, huh?" said Bart. "That sounds like 'something else,' alright. What do you think, Kid?"

"So it is the Waco Kid!" someone gasped from behind them. Jim gave Bart a sly smile.

"I think that sounds like just the thing," he said.

"Well, then, we'd better find ourselves a room," said Bart, stepping back from the bar, causing the crowd behind him to step back, too. "Think they'll let nice people stay in the hotel?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" said a small balding man who was part of the crowd. "Right this way, please!" He ushered them to the door and scurried down the street toward the hotel, Bart and Jim taking an easy pace behind him.


	2. Chapter 2: Try Your Luck

The next morning saw them outside the entrance of the mine, carrying a load of equipment - a pick, a shovel, dynamite, and packs for carrying their lunches in and the gold out. It seemed like all of the locals were there, too. People were practically shoving each other aside in the attempt to enter the mine first and get the "best" spot - though where that spot was, was a subject of debate. Some people were going straight for where Gabby said he'd found gold, while others were gambling for more room and more gold deeper in the mine. Those who were a bit more nervous about mines thought they'd stay near the entrance, get started earlier than those who had to travel farther in, and get out quickly should something go wrong.

"Where do you want to try your luck?" Jim asked Bart as they stood back a little from two tall, muscular men who were clearly brothers, but were extending no brotherly love when it came to who was going to set foot in the mine first. After a couple of shoves, one managed to hook his foot around the others' lower shin and trip him up, taking advantage of it to bolt through the adit.

"It seems to make sense to get started as close to where Gabby found his gold as possible," Bart replied. "But I'd like to give some of these folks a little room."

Jim laughed. "Now why would you want to do a thing like that?" he asked. Bart didn't bother to answer.

####

At the end of the day, Bart and Jim trudged out of the mine, dragging the pick and shovel behind them, with nothing to show for their labor.

"I didn't know I had so many muscles, but I sure can feel them now," Jim said. "They're all very angry with me."

"We don't have to go back," Bart said.

"Let's try a little longer," suggested Jim. "I haven't tortured myself enough."

Bart managed a half-laugh. "I'm game if you are."

"You don't sound very game."

"I'll be alright. Remember, I worked on the railroad before I was sheriff. I just need a good meal and a long soak in that fancy claw-foot tub in our hotel."

"Well, then," said Jim. "Let's eat, so you can get that soak in."

####

Three days in, they were ready to give up. Some of the locals stopped mining after just a day of work, because they weren't used to the hard labor, or had stores or ranches to run, or they didn't feel the pull of wealth that others did. But for every one person who quit mining, two more came along to take their place. Word was definitely spreading. No one had found any more gold yet, and some people thought Gabby had been lying. Gabby, denying the rumors, worked busily in the area where he said he'd found gold, but he seemed to have no more luck than anyone else.

Day's end found Jim and Bart heading for the adit, talking about whether they shouldn't just quit and find something else to do.

"Wait a minute," said Bart, stopping in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

"I left my pack behind."

"I'll go get it with you."

"There's no sense in both of us going. You're tired. Just wait here, and I'll be right back." Bart turned and walked back in the direction they'd come from, his lantern winking out as he turned a corner.

Jim lowered himself to a seated position, groaning a little and leaning back against the wall. He studied the marks on the opposite wall, noticed the sticks of dynamite someone had left behind. "Uh, uh, uh," he said, as if the person at fault could hear him. "Careless."

About five minutes later, he thought he saw Bart's lantern gleaming. "Right on time," he said, and gingerly raised himself to standing, grunting a little as his muscles protested.

The sound of the falling rocks reached him at nearly the same time that Bart's light disappeared. "Bart!" Jim yelled, dashing in his direction. He ran into a wall of rock where no wall had been before. He began to dig frantically, shifting some of the smaller rocks in front of him, only to have more cascade down to take their place. Jim jumped back a little and was relieved to find that the cave-in didn't get much worse.

"Bart!" he yelled again. His voice echoed back at him, but there was no reply from Bart.

By this time, some others had arrived at the site of the cave-in.

"What happened?" someone asked.

"There was a cave-in. Bart was just coming back from fetching his pack, and then..." Jim couldn't go on. He felt panicky. _This isn't how the Kid reacts. Come on. Pull yourself together._ But all he could think of was Bart, trapped under a pile of rubble.

"Was anyone else back there?" Another voice brought Jim to his senses. For the first time, he thought about the possibility that someone else was trapped, too. But…

"No," he said, feeling a little calmer. "No, I believe we were the last ones out of this section of the mine today."

"Well, thank goodness for that," someone said. "If all we lost was the…"

He didn't get any further. Jim didn't take his guns with him when he was mining, but even unarmed, he was dangerous, and fast. The man found himself pinned against the wall, Jim's hand around his throat. He made little choking noises, trying to speak.

Jim felt a hand on his arm. "Stop that. His death'll do no one good, and he'll never make that mistake again," someone said.

Jim let go of the man, who sank to the ground, massaging his throat. He couldn't focus on the man who had stopped him; he was in a daze. "Mistake," he spat. "Some mistake. Now who's gonna help me dig my friend out?"

"We can't shift this without causing more trouble," a man said. "At best, we'll just add more rock to this pile. At worst, we'll lose more men."

"We can't just leave him!" Jim said.

"He won't have survived that," the same man said. "Face it, fellow. Your friend is gone."

Jim felt all the energy that had kept him going for the past few minutes leave his body. His shoulders slumped. "You're wrong," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "Bart's alive. He needs me."

"You can't help him," another man said. "Bud here's right. Anyone caught when these rocks fell is a goner."

Jim sat down, leaning back against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Bud asked.

"I'm going to wait here until Bart comes to and can call me for help. Then I'm going to get him out," he said, closing his eyes against the tears.

"Suit yourself," Bud said. "Won't make no difference. We'll be back tomorrow. We'll come check on you."

Jim had no intention of falling asleep, but the last man's footsteps were barely an echo when he began to snore.


	3. Chapter 3: A Bottle in Front of Me

Jim woke with a start, confused for a moment. Why did he feel so sad? Where was he, and why was he cold and stiff and… sitting up and…? And then he knew.

His lantern was still burning (he should never have let himself fall asleep like that…), so he hadn't been asleep for very long. Had Bart woken him? "Bart?" he called out. He waited in silence, then tried again. "Bart!" Again he waited, and again he heard nothing.

Suddenly, his notion of waiting for Bart seemed as foolish as he'd been told it was. Bart was dead, and he was alone. There was no doubt in his mind. He stood and walked toward the cave-in, studying it for a moment. He considered trying again to shift the rocks - what was the worst that would happen? But he had no energy, and he saw no point. Slowly, he made his way to the mine's entrance and stepped out into the cool mountain air. The sun had set, and a part of Jim's mind registered that the sky was breathtaking, but he didn't care. He made his way to the saloon.

He eyed the rows of bottles along the back wall, focused on a bottle of whiskey that was nearly full.

"I'd like that," he said, pointing to the bottle.

The bartender took out a glass.

"No glass. The whole bottle," Jim said.

The bartender raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. He turned to look at the bottle, making mental calculations.

"$1."

A man sitting at the bar made disapproving noises, but Jim handed over his money and took the bottle. Removing the stopper, he put the bottle to his lips, tilted his head back, and took a long drink. Then he replaced the stopper, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and walked out the swinging doors and down the street toward the hotel.

####

When he wasn't drinking in his room, he was drinking in the saloon. A few days into his liquid diet, he found he had to hitch his belt tighter, but he just shrugged it off. Bart had been the best thing that happened to him in a long time, and now Bart was gone.

Nearly a week from the cave-in, when Jim handed over his last dollar for yet another bottle of whiskey, he packed up his stuff and left the hotel. No sense in having them throw him out. He wondered vaguely about what to do with Bart's stuff and finally decided to ask the hotel manager to give it away to the next down-and-out person who came to town. It's what Bart would have wanted, he figured.

"You're pretty down and out, I'd say," the manager replied, trying to put Bart's clothing back in his arms.

Jim gave the manager a sad smile. "I'm fine," he said and walked away, all his worldly goods in his pack. The pick, shovel, and lanterns had been left behind in the mine.

He went to the end of Main Street, settled his stuff against the southern wall of the dry goods store, and started in on his whiskey. "How will I replace you when you're gone?" he asked his bottle, patting it lovingly. He thought it would be better to savor it, but savoring didn't seem to be an option anymore.

Over the next few days, Jim found that he could always convince _someone_ to buy him a drink. People felt sorry for him. "He lost his only friend," they'd say to themselves, and "just this once" buy him a drink to comfort him.

However, a day came when it looked like Jim was going to have to face Bart's absence sober for a change; when he asked for a drink, people just shrugged him off. One earnest young woman lectured him on the evils of his drunken ways. As he staggered from the saloon, feeling sorry for himself, he nearly bumped into a wealthy-looking man he'd never seen before. Behind him, someone greeted the man.

"Hey, Pete! You're back!"

Jim turned, watching Pete join his friend at one of the tables. Here was a man who was surely good for a whole dollar. Thirst propelled him to the table, prompted him to interrupt the conversation.

"'Scuse me, sir," he mumbled, feeling a bit ashamed but compelled to ask anyway. "Could I borrow a dollar for a bottle of that there whiskey?" He pointed to the wall behind the bar counter.

Pete's friend shook his head, "no," but Pete ignored him. "Tell you what," he said, reaching into a pocket. "I'll loan you two." Jim's eyes went wide. "Mind you," Pete said, "I'll need that money back tomorrow. I don't have a lot of cash on me at the moment." He smiled.

Jim felt uneasy, but Thirsty Jim was in control, and he took the money. "I'll have it for you," he promised, and he believed himself as he said it. Surely he'd only spend a dollar, and he could find someone who would loan him the other dollar to pay Pete back.

Instead, he drank $2 worth of whisky in one day. The next day, he could only find one person who'd loan him anything, and that was just a quarter. Since he clearly needed more whisky, Jim took the quarter and spent it in the saloon.

Pete found Jim slumped against the Dry Good store, snoring. He nudged him with the toe of his cowboy boot, then, when Jim didn't respond, gave him a kick in the thigh. Jim snorted awake.

"Well, I can see what you've done with my $2," he said, laughing as he eyed the empty whisky bottles lying near Jim. "But it's time to pay up now."

"I can't pay you now," Jim said, confident the man would understand. "I'll have it for you in a few days."

"I told you I needed the money back today, and you've gone and drank it all!" He spat. "I don't like being made a fool of." Then he crouched down, and leered in Jim's face. "People been telling me you're the Waco Kid. I've been itching to meet you and see how fast you really are. I'd offer to settle this thing right now, but I've got business to attend to, and now I've got to find some more money before I take care of it. I'll be back tomorrow, and we'll meet on this here street at high noon. We'll settle this like men then." He laughed again. "You sober up by then, you might have a chance." He stood up and turned to walk away.

"I can have the money by tomorrow!" Jim called after him. "There's no need for a shoot-out!"

Pete laughed, not bothering to turn around. "I don't give second chances!" he called back to Jim.


	4. Chapter 4: High Noon

When Jim awoke, the sun was peeking over the horizon. _Was I dreaming about that shoot out?_ He groped for a bottle, but the one he picked up was empty. _I'll have to find someone to lend me money._ A shadow loomed over him, and he looked up.

"I must be dreaming," he said. "You look just like Bart."

"I am Bart," said a familiar voice. "What have you done to yourself, Kid?"

Jim almost jumped at the voice, but then he just smiled up at the figure. "Bart's dead," he said. "And I must be pretty far gone to be dreaming him as real as you seem to be."

The figure reached down and grabbed Jim by the hand. _I've never had such a realistic dream before._

"I'm real alright," the man said seriously, pulling Jim to his feet, and looking him in the eye. "I survived the cave in, but it took me a while to get out. The hardest part was when I came to - must've been the next day, least, I hope it was only a day later. I could hear people working in the mine, but no matter how hard I shouted…" He looked Jim in the eye. Jim's smile was getting broader and broader, his gaze becoming more focused.

"Beginning to believe I'm real now?" Bart chuckled. "I shouldn't just stand here telling you my story, though. You look like you've been through more hell than I have. Lemme get you something to eat."

"Oh, I don't have much stomach for food right now," said Jim, "but I sure could use a drink."

Bart raised an eyebrow. "It's a little early in the morning for a drink." He paused. "Tell you what. I'll buy you a drink, but it'll cost you. You'll have to eat a plate of food, too."

Jim smiled and shook his head. "You've got me," he said. "It's a deal."

####

Over breakfast and whisky, Bart told Jim the rest of the story of his escape. Not being able to get the attention of the miners on the other side of the cave in, he'd finally ended up digging himself out, bit by bit. It was easiest for him to get out on the side of the cave-in furthest from the miners, so then he had a new challenge: finding another way out of the cave in the dark, if there was another way out.

"I wandered for days," Bart said. "I was about to give up, when I entered a room with light streaming down from above and heavenly music playing. A voice said, 'Bart, don't give up. Your friend Jim needs you.' I approached the light and a hand from above reached down. I took the hand, and it pulled me into the daylight, and then…"

Jim let out a little snore.

"I'm a master storyteller," Bart said. He gave Jim a poke.

Jim startled awake and pulled himself out of his slouch. "I'm glad you're back," he said. "But you've come back at a bad time."

"Seems to me if it's a bad time for you, it's the best time for me to be here," Bart said. "What's going on?"

Jim explained about Pete and the money and the shootout.

"I think it's real," said Jim. "I'm pretty sure I didn't dream it."

"When did he say he'd be back?" Bart asked.

"Today, I think. I'm pretty sure that's what he said. Today at high noon."

Bart whisked the bottle of whisky off the table. Jim reached after it, but Bart just stood up and passed it to the group of cowboys at the next table over. "Come on," he said to Jim. "We've got to sober you up!"

####

Shortly before noon, Bart and Jim waited at the end of Main Street.

"Are you sure you won't let me handle this?" asked Bart, studying Jim. "You still don't look so good."

"Don't worry about me. I can handle this better than you. … No offense."

"None taken. I just want to see you walk out of this alive."

"I will." Jim was silent for a moment, then added, "I hope."

At noon, Pete appeared as if from thin air at the opposite end of the street. "Ready to settle this?" he yelled.

"I'm ready," Jim responded, sounding more confident than he looked.

"Then on the count of three," Pete yelled, as both men prepared to draw. "One…" He drew his gun. Two shots rang out, one right after the other, and Pete collapsed. Bart turned to look at Jim, but Jim was falling to his knees, clutching his side in pain. His gun lay on the ground.

"I thought he might do that," Jim said. "But I guess the drink's made me a little slow today. He managed to get a shot in before my bullet hit him."

Bart ripped off his shirt and tried to staunch the flow of blood from Jim's side. "Jim, this is bad," he said, his voice trembling a little. "I didn't fight my way out of that mine just to see you bleed to death in the street."

Jim tried to say something, but his eyes fluttered closed instead.

####

 _Bart faced the screenwriter across the desk._

 _"Now wait just a minute, screenwriter. You can't do that. This is a comedy production, and folks expect a happy ending."_

 _"Who told you this was a comedy? Maybe I decided to take your story in a different direction this time."_

 _"Oh, no. People looking for_ Blazing Saddles _fanfiction expect comedy. You gotta give them what they want."_

 _"Want me to kill you off, too? I can end the story with the two of you sitting on clouds in heaven, playing harps and making wisecracks."_

 _"I want you to rewrite that shootout scene, and this time, I want Jim to live."_

 _"Who are you to tell me what to do? You're a character, for crying out loud! I'm the writer."_

 _"When characters are brought to life, they develop a will of their own. I'm not going on with this story if you don't rewrite that last scene."_

The screenwriter swore, and Bart found himself back on the street standing next to Jim. It was shortly before noon.

"Jim, when Pete starts the count, he's going to draw early," Bart said. "You need to shoot him before he even finishes the word 'one.'"

"I figured I couldn't trust him, but how do you know this?" Jim asked.

"Don't ask me to explain it. You'll never believe me," Bart said.

"Try me."

"We've been through this before. You shot Pete, but… it didn't turn out well for you."

Jim raised an eyebrow.

"I told you, you wouldn't believe me! Just do as I say, and shoot him the moment he starts the count."

Jim shrugged.

At noon, Pete appeared as if from thin air at the opposite end of the street. "Ready to settle this?" he yelled.

"I'm ready," Jim responded, sounding more confident than he looked.

"Then on the count of three," Pete yelled, as both men prepared to draw. He'd done no more than open his mouth to start the count, when the shot rang out. Pete dropped to the ground before he could even draw his gun.

"Now that's more like it," Bart said with a smile.

"Pretty cheerful way to handle a man's death." Jim gave Bart a funny look.

"If you'd seen what I saw… well, never mind, Jim. Look," he said, as townspeople started leaving storefronts, crowding around Pete. "I have a feeling we won't be welcome here much longer, and I've had my fill of mining. What do you say we find something else to do?"

"What do you have in mind?" asked Jim, as they casually walked backward out of town.

"I think I'm done with the Wild West for a while," said Bart. "What do you say we check out what sort of trouble we can get into in a different production?"

"That suits me just fine." Jim smiled.

The limo pulled up beside them, and the driver rolled down the window. "The screenwriter told me you two might need a ride out of town," he said.

"Well, well. I might just get along with the screenwriter after all," Bart said. The driver started to open his door, but Bart held up his hand. "Don't bother with the formalities. It'll be faster for us to open the door ourselves." He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of townspeople. Some were still with Pete's body, but others were walking down the street towards them. Jim took the hint and hopped into the car.

"Ever wanted to drive a getaway car?" Bart asked the driver, climbing in behind Jim.

"Not particularly."

"Well, I suggest you practice anyway."

They peeled out of town as the bullets started flying. Jim ducked, but Bart said, "Don't worry, these are the same folks who played stormtroopers in original Star Wars trilogy. They're terrible shots."

Jim straightened up and started laughing just as the driver took a hairpin turn. He stopped laughing and shot Bart a look.

"You can slow down now, driver," Bart said. "We'll take the rest of the ride nice and easy."

Roll credits.


End file.
